


eavesdrop

by gryffindormischief



Series: multichapters [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:01:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 15,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22995859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryffindormischief/pseuds/gryffindormischief
Summary: Let's let the stars watch let them stare / Let the wind eavesdrop I don't care / For all that we've got don't let go Ratings on individual chapters
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter
Series: multichapters [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/673754
Comments: 144
Kudos: 186





	1. HG - Kiss & Pull Away (M)

**Author's Note:**

> SULTRY ADULT M RATED. Anyway now that's out of the way, this'll be a one shot collection all kissing centric and intermittently smutty as I explore romance in fic - also I'm back after a hiatus I did not want but was very much necessary - I hope you like! (side note, practice safety...certain things happen "off screen" like protection...use it lol)

As Harry’s lips leave hers, Ginny can’t quite bring her eyes to open. Her other senses heighten at the deprivation - the warmth of Harry’s arms around her waist, the pounding rain, her bounding heart, the scent of spring’s first shower, crackling firewood, and their mingling breaths sweet with shared chocolate she’d smuggled up to the cabin.

It was supposed to be a lonesome trip to the lake house, quiet to get her mind focused on her upcoming Olympic season and  _ off  _ a certain hesitant, tempting, and utterly clueless surgeon. 

He can hold someone’s damn  _ life  _ in his hands and not hesitate a moment, take someone on the brink of death and bring them back. But ask him to make a  _ move  _ on a woman who clearly fancies the pants off him and it’s like he’s got no brain at all in that big, stupid, gorgeous head of his.

Instead, Ron, her soon to be dead brother, double booked the cabin  _ purely _ by accident. And after a brief argument on the doorstep she and gorgeous arsehole doctor decided they could  _ share _ . Nevermind her nerves - already threadbare - were now shot to pieces.

Somehow awkward avoidance had turned to reluctant cooperation and finally, after a rain drenched run from the docks, the softest, slowest, most tempting kiss she’s ever had.

“Ginny.”

She keeps her eyes closed. “Yes.”

“What - ”

And then, because she’s tired of waiting, tired of delaying, tired of  _ denying _ , she opens her eyes just long enough to find his neck and drag his face back down to hers. 

If the first kiss was a gentle beginning, this one is a screaming launch from the earth into the stratosphere. Filled with fire and while inevitable, a terrifying clash that could really end anywhere.

Ginny rises on tiptoe and pulls Harry closer, arms locked around his shoulders while her hands find his hair, her kiss unrelenting.

He sighs against her lips, palms slipping to her waistline and tilting her backward as they sway - a graceful give and take while their feet slowly wander. 

As she walks backward, Ginny trips over one of her discarded sandals, but Harry’s hand remains warm and sure against her back even as their lips separate.

Blinking away the stars behind her eyelids, Ginny drags her stare up to Harry’s eyes and finds his pupils blown wide, hair tousled, lips parted and then returning back to worship her with a teasing slowness. 

She moans his name as he presses lingering kisses along her jaw, down the slope of her neck, and all the while guides her toward the bedroom. 

“Gin,” he pushes her jumper up enough that his warm hands can toy with her bare skin, “Is this -”

“Yours - yours is bigger,” Ginny grunts, “Quite rude, if we’re ah- at a point to air grievances.”

Harry pulls back, “Clearly I’m doing something wrong if you’re considering past issues to bring up at the moment.”

Ginny raises her brows and leads him to the closed door, “I’m a multitasker,” and to prove it, she renews her inspection of his lips while working the tie of his joggers open.

After stumbling over his now divested trousers, Harry regains his footing and finishes his work with Ginny’s jumper and tosses it over his shoulder. “Since we’re moving things along.”

“ _ Finally _ .”

“Yes well you were taking entirely too long to kiss me, so you’re quite welcome,” Harry says, muffled by his half-removed t-shirt.

Ginny finishes her work and works the door open before flipping their places and pushing Harry backward toward the bed, not a pillow out of place until he drops backward onto it with a creak of the springs.

“ _ You _ \- are you kidding me.”

“Why - ” Harry’s retort ends, somewhat strangled, as Ginny drops her leggings and stands between his knees. 

Honestly, it’s a bit helpful that he’s got her all riled in a not quite sexual sense. She’s regained her head. Now they can focus and have a proper go.

But first she’s got a score to settle.

He sits forward and his stupid muscles ripple and the hairs on his legs tickle her knees and maybe she can settle the score  _ while  _ continuing their ‘proper go.’

Harry seems to have a similar idea because his palms find her hips and drag her close so he can kiss and nip his way across her midriff. When she nearly falls backward, Harry guides her into his lap and migrates his ministrations north, working one strap of her bra from her shoulder while her hands grasp his wild curls. “Why - why do you think I’m kidding,” he tilts his hips just enough to make a point, “I am most definitely not, as you may be able to see now.”

Ginny’s nails scrape along his scalp, run over his shoulders as he toys with her other strap. “It’s been a  _ year _ . Hell it’s been since uni, you turtle of a man.”

Harry laughs against her throat and pauses at the hooks on her bra, waiting. 

Rather than give him another excuse to delay, Ginny reaches back and pops the catches free, but leaves the front for Harry. 

His eyes linger on her half exposed chest as he sucks in a breath. “Before - it was never the right time.”

She shivers as his hands rise up her bare back. “And now?”

“I don’t want to wonder if it’s the right time.”

The remaining boundaries between them are stripped away as they maneuver until Ginny’s head is resting against the pillows and Harry’s slow exploration of her skin has come to a halt at her shoulder, his breathing labored. “Gin.”

Ginny groans at his hoarse whisper. “Harry.”

“Can we - ”

She barely sighs out a quiet  _ please _ and Harry’s pressed onto his forearms, his eyes boring into hers as he tilts his body forward and his breath leaves his lips in a sharp  _ ‘hah _ .’

The wind answers their moans, the thunder punctuates the creaking bed springs, and Ginny can’t tear her gaze from Harry’s even as their rhythm rises to a fever pitch. Even as his hand drags her leg higher and brings them even closer, sends her senses haywire. 

Until her back arches in pleasure and his mouth ceases its open mouthed exploration of hers and seeks lower - dragging, teasing, biting, as she cries out.

His own shout is muffled against her throat as the shockwaves ripple through their sweat sheened bodies, as Ginny tries to pull him closer though there’s no need. As Harry nuzzles her rumpled hair and presses kisses anywhere and everywhere he can find.

It’s as if the storm followed their lead, wind and rain departing and leaving behind a soft breeze and silvery moonlight to graze their bare skin and the new world.


	2. HG - Kisses to distract (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon-verse & sultry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SULTRY FIC - ye be warned

When Ginny sees Harry with his plastered on professional smile-grimace, nursing what’s probably his third glass of whiskey, she really  _ should  _ take pity on him. That’s what a nice wife would do.

But before she left three weeks ago for her (victorious) away games - Tutshill and Ballycastle can suck eggs - he  _ stole  _ her pre-tour Cornish pasties and bloody  _ laughed  _ when she pummeled him with a cushion. So now all’s fair as the overused idiom goes.

And he won’t know what hit him.

It’s the casual touches that go the farthest. A casual sneak-up, slowly slipping her fingers between his, thumb gently dragging along the side of his index finger, the press of her body against his arm.

He stiffens, then does that little nostril flare that lets her know he’s  _ sniffed  _ her like he’s a bloodhound, and his shoulders relax. Until he turns and his gaze drags over her, taking stock.

And maybe  _ this  _ is really the most important bit. She’s dressed to kill - kill the Boy Who Lived, specifically. This is what he gets for stealing pastry made by Molly Weasley.

Harry’s grip on her hand tightens as his eyes drag over the excessively beaded and bedazzled slinky gown that she really should be required to register as a weapon. At least where her husband is concerned. His eyes have gone all glassy now and the pompous arse Harry was tolerating hasn’t even noticed he’s literally talking to no one. 

Ginny shifts  _ just so  _ and lets the slit of her gown become that much more obvious. Harry scowls.

Which is when phase  _ three  _ begins. Feigned interest in Swotty McBoring.

In actuality, she couldn’t recall one word the man drones out in the next quarter of an hour, half because it’s utterly incomprehensible drivel and half because Harry’s found the cut out on her lower back and his fingers  _ do things  _ to her.

After her third faked laugh in the last five minutes, Ginny swipes Harry’s drink and takes a swallow, eyes studiously avoiding Harry’s gaze even as she presses her lips to the side of his thumb in thanks. And if she leaves a bit of red lipstick in her wake which just may be something that  _ does things  _ to Harry well, so be it.

Once the drink is finished, it’s a pretty good excuse to leave the conversation  _ and  _ the Ministry Department Annual Mixer (an institution from hell itself) but again, Ginny is in for the long, torturous haul. 

So while they wander toward the bar, Ginny begins searching for her next conversation placeholder.

And it goes on like this for almost an entire hour, Ginny’s teases, Harry’s increasing tension, her ratcheting longing for his bum and his hands and his - other things.

Until finally, she’s engaged in a surprisingly enjoyable conversation with Marty and Edie from the De-Commissioned Brooms department and Harry leans down and kisses her soft and sweet just behind her ear. His cheek brushes the pearlescent comb that holds her hair back as he murmurs, “I know what you are doing, you hell beast.”

Ginny fights to keep her composure, her only answer a pinch to his side where her arm is wrapped around his middle.  _ Check _ .

Kinglsey draws everyone’s attention to the front of the room, his voice booming through the high ceilinged hall, and initiates the final stretch of her carefully executed plan of attack.

It’s honestly the simplest in the whole process. Over the course of their dating, engagement, and subsequent marriage, Ginny’s learned Harry’s the best at torturing himself of anyone. All she needs to do is provide the material.  _ See: coy behavior and beaded weapon of death _ .

Ginny picks up one foot and fumbles for the strap.

“What are you doing?”

And there it is. That gloriously strangled, desperate question.

She tosses her hair back over her shoulder and peers up at Harry. “Me?”

His eyes narrow.

“My shoes - they’re chafing.”

Harry hums.

“Long day.”

It’s more of a grunt this time, really. Too bad she can’t monetize this skill.

He keeps watch while she slips off one, then the other, and dangles the golden heels from her fingertips. As soon as she returns to full height - sans shoes - Harry grasps her around the waist and begins guiding them through the gathered crowd. Check _ mate. _

At the few curious glances they receive, Harry mutters something vague about getting a call, which in the broadest sense isn’t  _ that  _ much of a lie.

As they near the apparition bays Ginny tries to slow Harry down, feet skidding on the marble floors. “Where’s the fire, Mr Auror - we both know there was no call.”

He turns the full brunt of his scowl on her, arms folded across his chest and eyes fiery. If it weren’t for the undisguised  _ want  _ in his gaze, it would be a bit intimidating. No wonder he’s done so well in law enforcement.

“You - why do you hate me?”

Ginny saunters the few paces between them and slides her body along his front, brushing her chest over his forearms. Her answer is a murmur, “Ask my Cornish pasties.”

His brow furrows until realization spreads over his features. “Are you kidding me?”

“I never kid about pastry.”

“So all this - ”

“Revenge - it really is quite sweet.”

Harry actually pouts now, “So mean - so very mean to your lonely husband.”

Grasping his arms, Ginny rises on tiptoe until her lips are hovering just by his ear. “Oh, I believe before tonight is over we will both have been so very nice to each other.”

Then, it takes about every grain of self control she possesses to  _ not  _ stumble toward the apparition bays like a drunken mess and maintain her composure. Harry’s pulse throbs.

And then, somehow, they make it from the alley two streets over and to the door of their flat while Ginny flubs the locks. Which isn’t really that unexpected when Harry’s  _ tongue  _ is in her ear.

“We’ll never get inside at this rate,” Ginny breathes as Harry finds the zip at her neck, “At least not before I’m  _ nude  _ and give Mrs. Gardner a heart attack.”

As Ginny twists to face Harry, her zip half undone, he reaches past her and wordlessly releases the locks and wards with a flick of his wrist. He really should not be allowed to be this attractive.

“I’m not sharing you with the neighbors.”

Ginny laughs as they stumble into the dark flat, “Ditto - those buns of steel are just for me.”

His answering laugh is muffled against her neck as she works his jacket open and lets it fall to the floor in a heap, followed quickly by his tie. The pearl buttons on his shirt put up more of a fight and soon enough he’s helping her along, leaving the back of her gown gaping open while his undershirt is revealed bit by bit.

Somehow, her hands slide from their exploration of his chest to his hair, dragging through the curls and setting them wilder than before. Harry’s sighs against her lips turn to groans when she bounces enough to hook one leg around his waist, her standing foot barely touching the floor.

The front of her gown droops enough that Harry’s mouth can wander past her collarbone and discover how very little lingerie the decadent garment allowed for. When she can’t quite manage to slip his shirt from his shoulders - when exactly did she manage to pin him to the door so expertly - Harry grunts and grips her to him, swapping their positions.

His free hand cradles her head, keeping her skull from cracking against the wall even as the chain on the door rattles. “Shit, Ginny.”

With some maneuvering that mostly involves pressing her to the wall with his hips - a delicious method - Harry’s shirt is abandoned to the floor and when his palms grasp her again, he’s worked the skirt of her gown open by the slit so his hands grasp her mostly bare skin.

Harry grinds them closer together and Ginny tosses one arm overhead, fingers grasping at her hair helplessly. “ _ Please _ .”

He snaps her knickers lightly. “These need to go away.”

“So does this,” Ginny answers, flicking his belt buckle.

They work to remove just enough, open just enough that  _ hours  _ of teasing - or to call it what it really is, foreplay - finally resolve. Harry’s hips stutter against hers, one arm banded around her waist while the other slaps against the wall just at her shoulder. “Oh hell, Gin.”

“Still, think I’m - ah - a hell beast?” Ginny manages to laugh, one leg locked around Harry’s back while the other slips down his side, giving her that little bit of leverage to tilt  _ just so _ .

Harry’s hand forms a fist on the wall and the photo frames tremble.

Their breathing comes in short pants, a steady thrum that fills the quiet flat, drowning out the ticking clock, the sounds of London by night echoing from the street.

Until finally Harry drives Ginny over the edge in one, two,  _ three _ \- following after her with a shout as they melt against each other, slowly slipping to the floor.

As she relaxes against his chest, Harry’s fingers card through her undoubtedly wild hair, his heart beating rapidly beneath her ear, he murmurs, “Welcome home, dear.”


	3. HG - Cheeky/Sultry (M)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sultry sultry for fightfortherightsofhouseelves :)

Golden light cuts across the darkened bedroom in a shard. Of course, it finds Harry’s half-cracked eyes with sniper-like accuracy.

“Anyone alive in here?”

Harry groans and pushes up on his elbow, inhaling sharply as the movement tweaks his back. _Mm, pizza_. “You’re a goddess.”

Ginny chuckles, only half her face visible in the dark room. “I know, but it’s still nice to hear.”

He flops onto his back, spine popping, and throws one arm over his face. “Gonna bring that delicious package in here?”

She twists the small dresser lamp on and smirks at him, pizza box propped on her hip. “Not sure which of us I want you to mean.”

“While you decide, care to come a little closer?”

Smirking, Ginny sets down the six-pack of... _something_ with a clatter and kicks off her trainers while Harry fumbles around for his glasses and pats the bed. “Get over here beautiful.”

“I hope _that’s_ about me,” Ginny laughs, “But this really is a gorgeous pizza.”

Ginny crawls up the bed, holding the pizza box high while Harry works his way into a sitting position with much grunting, groaning, and joint-popping. “How was your day?”

“Eh, too much press, too little pitch time,” Ginny shrugs, popping open a Butterbeer for each of them. “Dare I ask about yours?”

Harry flicks the pizza box open and blushes. “Nothing exciting.”

“Oh, look at those little rosy cheeks,” Ginny teases, “Embarrassed about your latest heroics? Rescue some damsels?”

“Hardly,” Harry grumbles around a bite of pizza, “Since when is being Robards’ personal labor force in my job description?”

After swiping a slice of pepperoni from Harry’s pizza and popping it into her mouth, Ginny says, “I dunno, probably since you told Rita Skeeter to ‘fuck off’ on the record.”

“Someone had to say it,” Harry mumbles as he twists his slice to get at the crust. “I’m a protector of the public, it was my _duty_.”

“No complaints from me, dear. I have never found you sexier.”

By the time Harry polishes off his second slice and Ginny her third, they’re bellies are full and aching with laughter. Harry swipes at Ginny blindly. “No - no more Ron impressions. I’ll sick up right on you.”

“Be still my heart,” Ginny deadpans, wiping tears from her cheeks and pressing a smacking kiss to Harry’s cheek.

He can’t manage to tear his eyes away when she pulls back, her ponytail half gone, cheeks red with laughter, liner and mascara smudged into oblivion, and as soppy as it sounds, the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. In fact, if he said it to her, with all that build up, she’d probably punch his arm and ask when he got to be so _lame_.

It does sound lame though, to make it so simple, just her laughing with him over pizza being that thing that sparks amateur poetics. Particularly since it’s a whole myriad of things that make him love her. And most of the time it’s stupid things like her telling him off for being a moody git, or coming home with a new board game they just _have_ to try only to discover it’s for children under four. Or that time it was a card game definitely _not_ for children. That game’s main goal _had_ been accomplished, though not in the way the creator’s might have envisioned considering they got three cards in before she tossed hers aside and tackled him to the rug.

He’d had to invent a few lies to cover those burns on his arse when Ron and the others spotted them in the locker room.

“Someone’s daydreaming,” Ginny says, prodding his cheek. Apparently she’s cleared the bed while he followed that mental rabbit trail and is now simply observing until he works his way back to reality. Or was, until she got bored.

“Sorry - does it help if it was about you?”

She eyes him up and down, “Depends how naughty it was.”

Harry’s retort dies on his lips when she rises on her knees and throws one leg over his lap, settling them into what’s been one of his favorite positions since he was sixteen. “Dessert time.”

“See, Gin, that is just so expected,” Harry says with a shake of his head, “Dessert is sex, predictable.”

Ginny blinks at him and finishes pulling her t-shirt overhead and tosses it aside. “Your girlfriend is in your lap - half naked might I add - and you’re calling her _predictable_.”

“I’m just saying, we can be creative,” Harry continues, his lips on her neck, “No need to fall into a rut.”

“Do I get credit for not making that a dirty joke?” Ginny asks, discarding his jumper.

His hands slip below her waistband. “I like your dirty jokes.”

She groans when he drags her hips against his; mouth skirting her collarbone. “So long as they’re creative.”

“ _Tights_?”

Ginny laughs and gets back to her knees to help him begin rolling the waistband of her purple tights down. “Style is important.”

Harry grunts and prods Ginny to flop backwards on the bed, crowding after her. “How ticked would you be if I tore them?”

“Buy me new ones?”

“Anything to keep you satisfied, dear,” Harry mutters against her midriff, nipping at her hip bone.

The seam rips unevenly and gives a bit of a fight at the waist itself, but Harry’s nothing if not determined, so he eventually gets to rolling the legs down past her knees and beyond, pressing kisses on each inch of exposed skin.

He nuzzles her ankle and Ginny droops back on the bed. “What’s - ah - the sudden concern for our excitement levels.”

Harry inwardly steels himself and props his chin on Ginny’s sternum, her hands finding his hair like it’s habit. And really, it is. “Well, I plan on us staying together as long as you’ll agree,” he flounders and Ginny pushes up on her elbows, watching, waiting.

“I - hell this was supposed to be cheeky and I was going to tease you about keeping each other excited,” Harry blurts, “But now with you in front of me, giving me that look, I can’t imagine ever being bored of you - god I hope you think the same.”

Her mouth ticks up in a half smile, soft and fond even as she teases, “You’re such a sop.”

As a sigh leaves his lips, Harry lets his head fall to her stomach, only for Ginny to tug at his hair. “There’s nothing wrong with a bit of soppiness every once in a while.”

He kisses a freckle just under her rib cage, nuzzles the band of her bra. “Your fault.”

Ginny laughs and tries to pull him up, but he works his way back down, slipping the button of her jean skirt open and dragging it down her bare legs. “And there’s just one way I can think to punish you.”

Harry’s teeth tug at her knickers, snapping the elastic just enough to sting her soft skin. “What about that little idea you skirted around - the whole center of that soppy rant?”

“I find it best to soften the suspect before the important questions,” Harry murmurs as he drags her legs over his shoulders and nuzzles closer, his breath warm and torturous against her now bare lower half.

And then his mouth is too occupied for more witticisms and Ginny’s barely able to string together the mix of swearing and praises that fall from her lips as she presses him closer to her. As he slowly brings her to the edge, her back arches and he’s sure she can feel his smirk as he lets off _just_ too soon.

“I may kill you.”

He nips at her inner thigh. “Not yet you won’t.”

Her chest rises and falls with her unsteady breaths. “Why’s that?”

“You know how good it’ll be when I _do_ follow through.”

Ginny curses him, even as he resumes his work, even as he praises her for the noises she makes, the way she feels, smells, tastes, and soon she’s blasted over the precipice in a rush, any semblance of coherent chatter lost as her shout echoes against the walls.

Gently, he places her legs back on the bed and slips up until his mouth meets hers, moaning as her tongue sweeps between his lips. “Gin.”

She doesn’t answer so he pulls away, nudging her nose with his. “ _Gin_?”

“I want to say I’ve gone boneless, but I also don’t want to make you feel too self important.”

Backing away further, Harry frowns, full of mischief, “Should I go?”

Ginny’s leg locks around his hips and drags him forward so forcefully he almost knocks their heads together. “No. You should get these trousers off and have your way with me.”

After a muffled _hmph_ in response, Harry manages to make enough space between them to assist as Ginny rather violently wrestles his trousers and pants off. “I believe it’s usually _you_ having your way with _me_.”

She moans as he drags his hips over hers, almost but not quite exactly where she’d like. “Not if you do that _thing_ \- ”

Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and Harry can’t really find a reason to say _no_ , so he bites at her neck and lets his hands run down her arms briskly. His voice is a rough whisper in her ear. “Whatever you say, dear.”

As he alternates nips and swipes of his tongue along her dewy skin, Harry grasps Ginny’s wrists and drags them overhead, pinning her arms to the sheets. “ _Stay_.”

Ginny quirks her brow and wraps her fingers around the spokes of the headboard, 

_As if he’s ever the one in charge_.

On the way back down, Harry lets his hands grasp at her hair, tugging _just_ enough that her neck arches so he can run his lips over the exposed skin and further. Her chest rises automatically, bringing her closer to his adoring mouth, even as her groans and sighs have him pressing his body into the mattress. 

She looks almost drunk when she turns her gaze back to him, eyes heavy lidded, smirk barely there. “Don’t waste all that fun on some bedsprings.”

Harry works his way over to the other side of her chest, teasing her with the drag of his tongue. His voice is a rasp. “I believe I’m in charge.”

“Not for much longer if - _ah - Ah_ ,” Ginny’s ultimatum dies as he lifts her hips and brings them together, her arms going taught over her head while her knuckles turn white.

The springs creak beneath them as their bodies move together in tandem, the bedframe skittering along the floor with each renewed push. 

One hand remains in place, dragging her into him, while the other caresses her cheek, cups her neck, and slowly meanders down her chest, looping and swirling over the patterns of freckles that decorate her skin.

The headboard clatters against the wall, and Harry groans. “Ginny.”

“Yes - _Harry_.”

“Am I - shit - is it really up to me?”

Ginny pulls his hips in with one leg, lifting hers at upward just as he dives in. “ _Yes_.”

“Shit,” Harry grunts again, “Good.”

And then he’s tipping forward, her soft front against his sweat damp chest while his arms come to bracket her head and his movements become more frantic. The neighbors will _not_ be happy.

“Please - ”

She groans against his throat, “Please what?”

“Use your hands - oh _hell_.”

Apparently, he’s convincing, because soom her hands are everywhere - pushing him in closer, tugging his overgrown hair, teasing the trembling muscles of his arms as he shifts to prod her over the edge once more before he falls too.

His mouth wanders, licking, sucking, biting, and finally she shouts, murmuring encouragement for him to follow.

And he does after one two - _three_.

He collapses against her, treasuring the thud thud thud of her heart against his chest, the feel of her breaths as they rise and fall, but he can only press her into the mattress so long. As Harry rolls to the side, Ginny follows, keeping their bodies entwined. 

“Exciting enough, Potter?”

And Harry’s brain is operating on half capacity, so he’s beyond witty repartee, beyond thinking things over any more, and even if he wasn’t - Ginny Weasley is looking at him like he’s the best thing she’s ever seen and he’d be an idiot to let another moment pass.

“Marry me?”

She hums and nods against his chest. “Marry _me_?”

He chuckles as she begins to drift off. “Name the place.”


	4. JL - Staring & Giving In (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jily!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JILY! rating this M. Fluffy sultry flirty fun. hope you like!

She’s  _ doing  _ this on purpose and no one will convince him otherwise. 

James is really trying to be a gentleman, act like this is their first date (which it is) and  _ not  _ just swipe his arm across the table and lie down so maybe she’ll devour  _ him  _ instead of the souffle.

Which is saying a lot, because he slaved over this stupid meal for the majority of the day and spent a good number of hours this week plannign the menu. Because he’s an overdone, melodramatic, hyper-invested crazy person who daydreams about licking the fudge off something other than his spoon.

When he emerges from his naked dessert fantasy, it’s only to find Lily eyeing him with a teasing smirk. (Because she’s actually evil and he would say so but she’d probably just smirk some more and then where is he?)

“Alright there James?”

He drops his spoon to the table with a clatter. “You know it’s not that smooth, the whole ‘alright, James?’ thing.”

“Dunno, I think it can work if wielded properly - in the right context.”

James watches as Lily polishes off her wine (Sauvignon Blanc because he bloody googled  _ wine pairings  _ for dessert) and sets it down on the table. “I seem to recall getting my arse handed to me for using almost that exact phrase.”

She shrugs and splits the remaining wine between them. “Like I said, need the right context.”

Leaning back, James tries to keep his focus  _ off  _ Lily’s tongue as she runs it over her upper lip. “And what would that be? Just an example to work from.”

He’s just taken a long, deep sip when she answers, “Probably from somewhere between my legs.”

(This is when he learns what Sauvignon Blanc feels like coming up your sinuses.)

As he swipes at his face with one of the serviettes he’d folded into a flower (like a ponce) and scowls. “I hate you - and  _ don’t  _ say ‘Alright Potter?’ because I’ll - ”

The pause comes necessarily, as it coincides with Lily’s maintained eye contact and slow unbuttoning of that horrible (amazing) sundress that flounces and shows nothing but  _ everything _ . He may hate (love) her.

“You’ll?”

“Shit.”

“I’m not into that - ”

James shoves away from the table and grabs his plate and hers, gesturing with the edge, “Help me clear.”

For the first time, she looks a bit knocked off kilter ( _ finally _ ) and starts to scramble for  _ something _ to say. Which, he’ll admit is justified. He’s being very odd. But the blood flow in his body is all wonky and she’s just.  _ Lily _ .

He comes to a halt and sits back down, plates piled messily. “I know this is technically our first date and - ok I want to pick up on that little ‘between the legs’ line you dropped but I also fear that if I interpret your intentions wrong I’ll end up getting something thrown at my head.” (He borrowed them from mum and does  _ not  _ want to explain why they’re smashed)

Lily quirks her brow. (Does she do  _ anything  _ that he doesn’t find attractive?) “Is there more than one way to interpret that statement?”

“I dunno,” James moans, head thrown back against his chair, “You’re a very complicated human.”

She pops open another button, enough now that one strap falls from her shoulder and reveals how very  _ little  _ she’s wearing. “And  _ you  _ are a very dense human.”

A little growl leaves his throat. “ _ I _ \- do you know how long - my - you - “

“James if you don’t throw me over your shoulder and lay me down on those sheets I  _ know  _ you freshly laundered ‘just in case’ I will start throwing Euphemia’s dishes.”

“How did you - ”

Lily shoves her chair back with a clatter and brings one foot up on the seat, working the buckles on her sandal open. “James, I have waited for  _ two years _ and dropped so many hints I think Sirius’ eyes are actually perpetually rolled by now and if me literally asking you to stick your face - “

He stumbles his way around the table and brushes her hands away from her foot. “Let me.”

His fingers stutter on her ankle when she presses her chest against his back, nips at his ear. “James.”

One foot is free now, little pink-painted toenails fully revealed, and James waits for her to lift the other.  _ “James _ .”

He grunts, and the second is undone.

And then, like a true romance novel hero, he hefts her over his shoulder to her chuckles and doesn’t pause (just offering a quick warning to duck to avoid the doorway as they head down the hall) until he’s tossed her on the beautifully made bed.

(Yes, it is all freshly laundered.)

“Now what?”

Lily pushes up on her elbows, the comb holding back half her hair slipping out, her dress gaping open, and one foot propped on the bed so he can see - 

“I thought you’d be able to ad-lib from here, James.”

He would like the record to show first, that he is generally a suave person. Girls like him, he’s a professional hockey player (who has all teeth and minimal nose breaks), and he’s a respectful flirty arsehole. Second, that Lily Evans full on  _ gawks  _ when he whips off his shirt. 

(She asked for an ad-lib, she got it.)

While she’s occupied, he toes off his trainers and gets up close and personal with the foot of his bed, dragging Lily to the edge and makes to toss her legs over his shoulders. But then she does that  _ thing _ ...the whole ‘heaving chest, licked lips in anticipation’ bit and he can’t help but crawl up the bed and slant his mouth over hers. 

His tongue swipes between her lips on her gasp that quickly turns into a moan. “ _ James. _ ”

Lily’s hands map his shoulders, the rippling muscles of his back, while he sways his body into hers. “Hell, Lily.”

Her palms slip under the waistband of his jeans and squeeze. 

(It makes him hate ‘squat day’ less when she hums appreciatively.)

“If you - ah -  _ are  _ taking requests I wouldn’t mind that little ‘between the legs’ scenario,” Lily sighs as he works his way down her throat, pushes open her sundress.

“Such a princess.”

“I’m queen,” she pauses to gasp when he nips at her belly button, “Thank you very much.”

James nuzzles at the skirt of her dress and then flips up the hem and finds some pale blue lacy knickers that he half admires, half hates for keeping him from moving further as quickly as he’d like.

(Though it does present a delicious teasing opportunity.)

Lily growls when his lips press against the flimsy fabric, grabs at his hair wildly when his nose skates over her inner thigh. James hums. “Well then, my Queen,” he pauses for another kiss, “Is now the appropriate time?”

“For what, you damn arsehole, prick, idiot,” she blows out a breath and James nudges the fabric, “Just - ”

Her sentence dangles and she loses her train of thought as he drags the lace down her thighs, lets it dangle on one ankle as he lifts her legs back into place over his shoulders. Lily sighs and he smirks against her. “Alright, Evans?”


	5. JL - Break Away & Murmur (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon-verse...that's all I'll say

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH I hope you like :)

Lily pulls back, chest heaving. “Oh I hate you.”

He can’t help but laugh, even as his lips search for hers again. “You’re so sweet. Color me enticed.”

With a growl, Lily pushes James back against the wall and squeezes his shoulders. “This is all your fault.”

“I was just trying to be a gentleman and walk you home,” James says, his voice a breathy murmur against her throat, “You’re the one who can’t resist my body. Apparently.”

She grunts and licks into his mouth, hands scrabbling to yank his jumper and t-shirt overhead in one swift, albeit messy, movement. 

James pushes off from the wall and fumbles around for a lightswitch, slowly shifting them away from the entry and hopefully to something more horizontal. “Lil - Lily I - ah - I know I’m irresistible.”

“You do, and you know how I feel and you  _ torture  _ me doing stupid things that make me all - ”

“Hot and bothered?”

“And then expect me to sit at Alice and Frank’s rehearsal dinner,” Lily growls, “While you’re wearing that damn jumper and cuffing the sleeves and - shit.”

James grins against Lily’s throat and presses his hips closer to hers. The air is heavy with their breaths, the thrumming of their heartbeats. “Can’t I turn on a light?”

“Too much time - waste,” Lily says, pushing against him desperately, “Now let’s - let’s stop wasting it.”

When he backs away from the wall, James fully intends to go all brawny he-man and carry LIly down the hall, drop her on the bed, and mutually ravish each other. But Lily’s got other plans. She slips down his front and somehow tangles their legs together enough that he falls backward on his arse. “Shit.”

Lily pulls back, gaping like her silk blouse he’s somehow managed to work open. “Are you alright?”

Surging forward, James draws his fingers through LIly’s hair and guides her mouth against his, thumb brushing her jaw. “More than,” he searches for her buttons, “Or it will be once we’re all - ah. Disrobed.”

In a flurry of grasping hands, desperate lips, and muffled swears, they manage to lose most of their clothes and soon Lily sinks down with a long sigh. “ _ James _ .”

While she sways and drags overhead, James begins moving along with her, palms slowly drawing paths up her back as she arches with a groan.

Eventually, he can’t bear the distance and pulls her closer, mouth finding her jaw, collarbone, and drifting lower to tease and nip. Their pleas mingle together when Lily’s hands bracket his head, sweat sheening her body while she drags it along his. 

James’ hands find her hips, pushing and pulling with each move she makes. He barely feels the scratch of the carpet beneath his bare skin, not when she’s almost there.

And then she is, and he is too, and it’s a cacophony of desperate, barely coherent words, nearly shouted into the empty space between their lips. 

When their mouths find each other, it’s wide open, breaths shared, almost giddy with release. “Better?”

“No thanks to you, Mr Potter.”

“Very much thanks to me,” James answers once he can manage enough of a lungful of air, “I lie here as your willing plaything, getting rug burns on my arse.”

“Stuff it,” Lily grumbles, though her fingers do wriggle beneath said arse and probe lightly, “So we should get up and at least be dressed when Alice gets here.”

“Oh, she’s not coming.”

Lily pushes up on his chest and frowns, formerly coiffed, teased, and sprayed hair a wild mess around her face. With the smudged lipstick and dark eyes she looks well and truly ravished. Though if he’s one hundred percent honest, she was the one doing all the ravishing. He’s a debauched man and not even a little sorry.

“What do you mean, ‘not coming’?”

“I mean, Frank doesn’t want to skip a night with his almost wife just because his mum wants to pretend that it somehow matters when they’ve been shagging since seventh year,” James says with a smirk, thumb swiping stray liner from beneath her eye.

“So you - ”

“I’m all yours Mrs Potter.”

“And Harry?”

“Still fat and happy at Mum and Dad’s.”

Lily’s scowl transforms into a wince as she rises onto her knees. “He’s not fat he’s a  _ baby _ .”

“And I love his little baby rolls,” James answers, “I love that my baby is happy and safe and fed.”

Accepting the offered hand up, James rises to his feet and hands Lily his discarded t-shirt while she steps back into her knickers. When she stands, he walks her backward until her shoulders press against the wall and puts one hand against the paper, leaning close so he can murmur in her ear. “I also love that he is happy and safe and fed somewhere far from where I will be slowly driving his mum to madness."  
  



	6. H - Height Difference (T)

She’s not expecting Harry at the store. He’s been off on some super secret something or other with his team for the last ten days. Ron’s been gone too and Hermione’s been chomping at the bit to use her access at the Ministry to poke around and find out exactly where they are. Between them, they’d decided once it hit two weeks, Hermione would go full on sleuth and find the boys. 

But it seems their self-enforced deadline has been beaten by the hopefully triumphant return. Barely sparing the necessary thought to flick George off when he says she’s ‘on the clock,’ Ginny strides across the sales floor and rises on tiptoe, practically launching herself into Harry’s arms.

He draws her in close and ducks his shoulders to bring their lips together.

She sighs into the kiss, “Welcome home.”

Harry hums. “I like this.”

Ginny’s tongue teases at the seam of his lips. “Mhm, me too.”

Grinning, he pulls away and lets his finger toy with the slim strap of her sun dress. “I meant this. Not that the rest isn’t highly satisfactory.”

“We had at least reached Exceeds Expectations,” Ginny shoots back, “I was working up to an Outstanding before you decided to have a chat.”

He’s twisting a lock of her hair around his finger now, thumb brushing the fiery strands. He  _ does  _ love her hair. “Perhaps we can shoot for the Outstanding away from a family friendly environment?”

In lieu of a verbal response Ginny tiptoes onto the laces of his boots and slides her front along his, the added height bringing her  _ just  _ shy of his lips. Growling, she loops one hand around the back of his neck. “What are you wearing lifts?”   
“This won’t be an issue if we’re horizontal.”

“Or if you do that macho thing against the wall…”

Harry’s suggestion is cut off when he receives a face full of packing peanuts. “Oi - do your weird  _ foreplay _ outside of my upstanding establishment, if you please.”

Ginny rolls her eyes. “You forget I was in the staff meeting where you pitched a Dumbledore bikini calendar.”

Harry’s face pinches, “Would he be wearing - the beard would - “ he shakes his head and sighs, “Why George? Why would you even think of that?”

“I can’t expect you people to understand the entrepreneurial mind.”

“Ginny take me away, it’s all too much,” Harry groans, all dramatics, while Ginny muffles her chuckles and drags him from the shop. 

“Let’s get your mind on something else entirely, eh?”

  
  



	7. HG - Lap Sitting Kisses (T)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da! I did something different...bonus points if you notice

The bar is muggle, dim, and dingy, just like the Harpies prefer. They can carouse and dance until their post-win excitement is worn off without the prying eyes of reporters and gossip columnists dogging them.

As for their actual fellow patrons, the team (plus Harry) seem to be disinterested in the somewhat odd newcomers. Harpies are a common enough ‘folktale’ to most in the region so as long as they avoid talk of flying, brooms, and any ‘foolish wand waving.’

Honestly, the team goes for cheap drinks, oily chips, and too loud music. So anything magical is pretty far off their list of priorities anyhow.

Tonight though, teasing their ‘resident mascot’ seems to have moved to the top slot. Or at least number two behind the cheap drinks. 

Harry’s lingering as usual at Ginny’s shoulder, fully kitted out from head to toe including face paint. Today, in honor of the finals, Harry’d included sparkles in his dual-colored beard. And now he was getting ribbed for it.

“Your welcome for showing team spirit, Macleroy,” Harry drawls, fingers toying with the strap of Ginny’s vest top. 

Ginny’s hand rises to brush his fingers before gripping his hand and tugging him around in front of her. The legs of her rickety chair scrape against the sticky floor and she pats her knee expectantly. “Well we Harpies like to reward loyal fans,” she winks and pulls his hand more firmly, “Have a seat.”

Granville hoots, “Time to ride like a Harpy, eh?”

Flipping off her teammates, Ginny tugs the tip of Harry’s beard so his lips find hers, open and waiting. The cheers and slams of fists on the table fade as Ginny licks into Harry’s mouth, her fingers carding through his paint-stiff locks. 

Gwenog clears her throat dramatically, but Ginny keeps the kiss going for another heartbeat or two. And Harry’s learned not to question Ginny’s needs after a win - or her in-team posturing. Harpies are an odd bunch and Harry’s not opposed to playing the part of her ‘boy toy’ on occasion. Not at all. 

She grins against his lips and finally releases him to sit at his full height, though her grip on his waist doesn’t relax. While he lifts his own to rest around her shoulders, Gwenog smirks. “Thanks for the free show Weasley, I love dinner and live entertainment.”

Ginny’s touch sneaks beneath the hem of his jersey as she drawls, “You’ll have to use your imaginations for the finale.”


	8. HG - Kiss lips, nose, forehead (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> canon, sultry sultry hehe. tell me what you think plz

Harry’s drowning in enough scrawled notes, color-coded flash cards, and tabbed textbooks to make Hermione proud when he’s suddenly yanked back from the table.

He’s already readied his wand and is halfway to throwing up a shield when his eyes focus on the first non-defense related thing he’s looked at in the last four hours. “Gin.”

She smirks and taps her wand against her thigh. “Surprised you remember my name.”

Sighing, Harry tips back in the chair, wheels still rolling a bit along the floor from Ginny’s dramatic entrance. “I think my brain might ooze out of my head.”

Ginny chuckles and he hears the floorboards creak beneath her feet. Then he feels her. Close.

And now on his lap.

Disregarding his groan, or perhaps because of, Ginny presses her lips to his.

It’s just a tease of a contact before giving the same treatment to the tip of his nose, and finally his forehead.

And that’s when he feels the tension begin to leave his face. Tension he was very unaware of. It feels like he’s been aware of next to nothing but the damn Inspector’s exam since he started revising a month ago.

Ginny nips at his ear and he feels her chuckle against his jaw when he moans. “You are so easy to please these days.”

He has yet to open his eyes, already nearly entirely bowled over by the feel of her, the smell, the warmth of being this close. “I have a lot of stress.”

She’s nuzzling his beard (grown unintentionally, kept for the way it makes her practically purr) when she answers, “I know, and I do too and I think we can help each other.”

Then he feels her pull away and hears as the zipper from her jumper clatters on the ground, and his eyes are wide open in time to find her smirking at him. “I thought that might do it.”

Harry leans forward, palms wide against her waist and his mouth hot against her neck, so lost in her breaths as they sync with his that he nearly sends them sprawling. 

When the chair thuds against the wall, he manages to keep his seat while Ginny grips him with her thighs like he’s a broom (he’ll think of a naughty joke about Harpies riding skills later when she’s not looking at him like a meal).

“Relocate?”

Ginny links her arms around his neck and nods. “Yes,” her teeth tug his ear, and he thinks he just might die, “Just not far.”

The table-turned desk is wide and definitely strong enough to take advantage of - Harry’s thought about this quite a few times - but it’s also filled with carefully catalogued notes later-Harry will not appreciate being disturbed.

And Ginny seems to read him just fine, standing to wriggle from her jeans and knickers, leaving them in a trail behind her as she heads over to the couch. But she doesn’t lounge against the cushions and give him that look she gets - which he has also thought about a lot - instead she bends at her waist and props herself against the back. She wriggles her bare arse at him and winks, lets her hands droop over toward the cushions and groaning. “Harry don’t make me wait any longer - it’s been such a long, long day.”

Once she throws in a second wriggle, he’s jarred into action and soon enough he’s the most nude of the two of them. An issue he’s quick to remedy with a flick of his thumb and forefinger - a maneuver he’s managed to perfect over the course of their courtship and marriage.

“Ah, freedom,” Ginny sighs, “Now get to it.”

Harry runs his hand up her spine, enjoying the shiver it earns and presses a kiss to her shoulder. Ginny pushes her hips back against his and he decides they’re both too stressed and randy to draw this out.

Ginny’s breath comes out in an abrupt ‘hah’ when he follows through, and her groan turns to a pleased sigh when he pulls her hair out of the way, just a little harder than he intended.

He leans on close, his chest against her back, and when his lips suck a bruise just behind her ear, Ginny’s hand comes to hold him in place. “Please.”

Harry nips and licks his way down her neck while their bodies sway together, a familiar rhythm established between them over many happy hours.

What’s not familiar is that cold metallic feeling at his lip. He pulls back and finally sees what he really should have noticed the moment Ginny entered the room. He’s paid to be a person that notices things.

Ginny arches her back and changes the angle of things a bit so he loses the train of thought for a moment - which was barely a train of thought in the first place - but gets back.

“That’s new.”

“Mm, I read an article about, ah- some techniques to add some - pleasure.”

And then she tries another and Harry sees stars, nearly blacks out to be honest, but when he’s sure he’s still on earth, he murmurs against her spine. “I meant the earring.”

She pushes back against him, drags him forward with her - he really might die. 

“Oh,” Ginny pauses and fumbles around for his hands, grabbing one and bringing it around her body. He takes the hint to broaden his attention and Ginny continues, “I was bored. Saw it in a magazine. Thought it was hot.”

The light catches the metal glinting at the edge of her ear again and Harry can’t help but agree. “Shit. Yes. Very hot.”

The couch jerks forward with their increasingly frantic movements and Harry nearly pitches forward.

Ginny laughs, breathless. “Maybe - my ribs are a little sore.”

They both groan at the temporary loss but soon enough Harry’s sprawled against the floor and Ginny’s seated overhead, beatific and in charge - honestly as it should be - and if he had a thought in his head, Harry’d think maybe studying for the Inspector’s exam isn’t the most thing in the world.


	9. HG - Desperate Curve (M)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little different! I hope you like. definitely M!

She’s pretty sure Harry intended it to be a short ‘welcome home’ peck before they headed out for trivia night. It’s been on the books long before the Harpies’ uncharacteristically devastating defeat against Puddlemere and Gwenog’s subsequent Wood-esque obsession with training excessively. 

But now, Ginny’s been sequestered training until her hands cracked with wind chapping and her boots rubbed the back of her knees raw. All of which occurred during what was supposed to be a mid season break where she holed up with Harry for four days to do what newlyweds do best.

And now she’s here and Harry’s wearing those jeans that cup his bum and hell she wants to fake sick. Or honestly, just not show up and lock the floo.

So when Harry’s ‘welcome home’ peck hits her lips, she can’t help but sway into his body, let hers dip backwards as she pulls him closer. Her hands slide up his shoulders, knit into his hair, and soon enough his surprised stiffness shifts into a long sigh against her lips.

And it’s Harry who cracks first, murmuring against her neck, “Let’s stay in, yeah?”

Ginny groans. “Yes. Yes please.”

Her touch travels from his hair down his spine and she bites back a wince when the knit fabric of his jumper rubs uncomfortably against her palms. The pain is already an obsolete thought when Harry pulls away, much more on the concerned end of the Harry spectrum than she’d prefer. In fact right now she was hoping for ‘neither of us can feel our legs’ Harry but he’s never been one to follow orders.

“What’s happened?”

Frowning, she leans back against the door jam and flexes her fingers. “Windy in Holyhead. My gloves help but I hate the full coverage type so - ”

“Did you get them looked at?”

He’s studying her fingers when she answers, “Yes, I suppose it’s not comforting to say they were much worse?”

“I’ve got some salve - go make yourself comfortable in bed.”

With a sigh, Ginny nods. “I would have preferred a different connotation with that same order.”

“I’m going to let Ron and Hermione know we’re not coming.”

Defeated, Ginny wanders to the bedroom and strips her clothes, shoving them into the laundry basket and padding across the bedroom to find something loose and non-abrasive to wear. Much as she hates to admit it, she really is sore.

She’s wondering whether she really needs to put anything at all when Harry gasps from the doorway. “What the bloody hell happened to your legs?”

“Boots.”

“I know Gwenog’s great or whatever but I may have to go give her a piece of my mind.”

“Ok Mum,” Ginny says with a laugh, “Don’t worry. I have a day or two off to recover. Skin’s pretty resilient.”

“Get on the bed.”

“Feisty.”

“Gin.”

“Yes sir.”

Harry grunts - which is a new development. The joys of wedded bliss include discovering what pet names and desperate utterances get Harry going. He’s a bit too embarrassed to voice requests for those things, so far, but he’s pretty transparent.

Filing the ‘sir’ revelation away for later consideration, Ginny does as he instructs and lies diagonal across the bed, expertly made and freshly laundered by the smell of things. Hell, it feels like months since she’s let her body relax. Even sleep has felt like a tense affair.

She hears the jingle of Harry’s belt as it clatters on the floor, the faint ‘whump’ of his discarded jumper, and then finally the creaking bedsprings as he crawls onto the mattress next to her.

“Which is worse?”

Uncomfortable as her hands are, the backs of her knees feel like they’re on fire. Not an inferno per se. More like a slow, sustained burn. “Legs.”

The fresh, cool scent of aloe fills the air and soon she’s moaning as Harry carefully rubs the liniment into her skin with gentle fingers. His voice is low, soothing when he murmurs, “It’s all natural ingredients. I got so bored without you here I started studying my Auror’s Essentials companion text. It’s got a bunch of potions and healing shite in it.”

“Studying for fun? Doesn’t sound like my husband,” Ginny laughs.

Gradually, he works his way up her legs, soothing her strained muscles with slow, deliberate presses of his fingertips. And gradually, her moans take a turn from relief to desire.

“Harry.”

He hums, continues his rubbing.

“Harry,” Ginny says a little more forcefully when his work continues on her bum.

She peers back at him over her shoulder and finds him looking a bit bashful, palms upturned and glistening with the pale salve. He pushes his glasses up his nose with the back of his wrist. “Sorry I just. Got carried away.”

“Please, please get more carried away,” Ginny begs, “I fully and completely give you permission.”

Harry drags his t-shirt off, messily wiping his hands on the fabric and tossing it off to the side. With a bit of shifting and a couple of near hits with his knee, Harry’s lying at her side and slowly running his fingertips up and down her spine. “We might need to get a little creative - I don’t want to rub the cream off.”

“How about using those fingers for something more fun?”

“You have to promise to stay put.”

“Yes sir,” Ginny repeats, smirking when Harry scowls.

“No fair teasing me.”

“Get to work then,” Ginny replies, not acknowledging his whines. 

He’s gentle as he moves to kneel over her, legs spread wide to span her thighs while the tip of his nose drags over her bare skin, his open mouthed exhales kicking up goosebumps along her back.

The first press of his lips is heated and torturous, and with the second she feels his tongue dart out to tease over her freshly scrubbed skin.

Soon, his fingers abandon their exploration of her less sensitive areas and disappear further down her body. At first, doing nothing but drawing random shapes over her body, building tension low in her belly, and then suddenly his teeth bite sharply at her shoulder and his fingers reach where she’d been daydreaming about for the last week of deprivation.

Desperate, she grasps at the blankets as Harry works her to a fever pitch, his mouth now occupied with muttering low encouragements and praises against the shell of her ear. He’s propped up on one elbow and somehow he maneuvers so his hand can tease and toy with her chest while the other remains occupied and with slow, deliberate strokes and swirls.

“Harry please.”

He laughs, a low exhale against her cheek and picks up the pace until shockwaves roll through her body and finally, finally she feels relaxed.

“If I didn’t already love you, that would’ve clinched it,” Ginny sighs happily.

“Glad to be of service,” Harry laughs as he falls back to the mattress at her side.

She glances down at his pants and raises one brow. “Need a little help?”

“I’ll be alright for now. Raincheck.”

“Should I be offended?”

“You should be resting,” Harry corrects, “We’ll see about tomorrow. Now it’s sleep.”

Ginny complies, the last week finally catching up with her and the added push of Harry’s expert relaxation facilitation coupling together to make her pillow look particularly beautiful. “I know why I want to be in bed by half past nine, but what’s with you grandpa?”

Harry blushes as he helps her settle in, the sheet cool against her skin and blanket tossed to the end of the bed. “You know I don’t sleep well when you’re not here.”

“Well I’m here now, so get under here and cuddle your poor bruised wife.”

“As you wish.”


	10. JL - Kiss & Pull Away (T)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorty! hope you like!!

James is half expecting to get punched in the face in the moments after his lips touch Lily’s, even with the added security of the fact that he asked her permission. Four times - the last of which was barely a whisper against her skin before they kissed.

And now, he’s pulling away, breathless even with the barely there touch, heart pounding out a dangerous beat. He can’t seem to drag his eyelids open, still relishing the closeness.

Until, with sudden and surprising swiftness, Lily’s hand tightens at his neck and drags his mouth back down to hers, her impatient grunt muffled against his lips.

At first, it’s a clash of wills, desperate and all encompassing so his head is whirring. But it slows to a calculated exploration rather than breathless need. Their breaths sync together and Lily rises on tiptoe so her chest is pressed against his. 

James sighs and teases her lips with the tip of his tongue, a tickling move that draws a quiet chuckle from Lily. Though their smiles do little to add distance between their mouths or bodies.

Until James can’t suppress his any longer and he pulls away, earning a scowl from Lily. “I wasn’t finished with you yet.”

He smiles so his eyes wrinkle at the corners, cheeks warming with the weight of her gaze. “Sorry, it’s a bit hard to control my face at the mo’.”

“Cute as your smile is,” Lily says with a smirk, “I preferred what your lips were doing before all that.”

Quickly, he moves from nuzzling her hairline to pressing short, torturous kisses along her skin at random intervals so her breath catches and her instructions fall quiet. Once he ends up at her ear, he murmurs, “You know, I love your sass, but I think I love making you lose the ability to sass me just as much.”

  
  



	11. HG - Moving around while kissing (M)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH I have nothing to say...enjoy the arctic monkeys reference u get bonus points if you identify it

The photo frames rattle on the wall as Harry slams the door shut behind them, somehow absently remembering and managing to flick the locks closed. Once they click home, his hands are back in Ginny’s hair, brushing over the newly cropped locks, the shaved bit that prickles against his skin. He shivers along with her when he feels the unusual texture, remembers the flashing lights against the shockingly bright turquoise strip sitting in sharp contrast to her fiery waves.

He’s been gone long enough that any version of Ginny would send his brain into a wild panic (he’s a total sucker and not even a little sorry) but somehow leather skirt wearing, pierced ear sporting, blue haired Ginny nearly has him fainting in the bar. Overall he’s glad of two things, first, that he does not faint because this bar is a bit dingy (as the Harpies prefer) and second, that he is not one of the horde of blokes and ladies fighting for Ginny’s attention in the pressing mass of bodies on the dancefloor.

It’s not something he takes for granted, the way Ginny lights when she sees him, the unadulterated pleasure he feels just from knowing and being known, the privilege of feeling her body wrap around his while music pulses around them. And more relevant to his current state, the feel of her arms drawing him closer while she licks into his mouth and sends his blood roaring through his veins.

She’s everything, she is.

His back thuds against the doorframe and Ginny’s fingers begin working his jumper up his middle, taking his t-shirt with it in the process. Hissing at the cold, Harry bands one arm around Ginny’s waist and blindly walks them out of the front hall, getting into a minor scuffle with an end table and pausing for a moment when her back collides with the wallpaper. 

Ginny links one leg around his hips and he reaches to hold her close, groaning at the feel of her sawed off shotgun of a skirt as her mouth leaves his and begins a torturous inspection of his neck. 

Her hands grasp a bit helplessly as he teases her ear, lingering at her piercing, and his free hand finds its way beneath the hem of her cropped band t-shirt. He pulls away long enough to find her looking utterly debauched - flannel shirt hanging off her shoulders, deep burgundy lipstick smudged so he knows most of it is spread over his skin, and hair set wild with their mutual teasing and tugging.

They blink at each other for a handful of moments, working the bleary haze of want from their eyes so it sharpens to a bone deep need Harry can almost taste. 

Ginny smirks at him and lifts her thumb to swipe at his chin, holding it up between them, “I suppose I’m getting a bit territorial.”

“No trouble from me,” Harry murmurs as his palms slip beneath the edge of her skirt, fingers catching in the neon fishnet.

He stumbles back, losing his grip on Ginny’s waist as she begins working his belt open and renews her inspection of his neck with kisses, licks, and nips (that occasionally shift into ‘bite’ territory). When she slides her hand in his trousers and definitively makes her presence known, Harry lets out a yelp and stumbles backward so his shoulders smack into the wall. 

Ginny’s smirk should be registered as a damn weapon.

While she closes in on him with a dangerous look in her eye, Ginny drags her shirt overhead and tosses it indiscriminately to the floor. It catches on something that clatters to the hardwood but neither of them can be arsed to care at the moment. 

Particularly not Harry when he finds the turquoise streak, new haircut, and accompanying garb are not Ginny’s only grooming adjustments made in his absence. 

And the latest reveal is decidedly more permanent. 

She’s biting her lip when his thumb traces the small, winged snitch slanted over the side of her ribcage, barely lit by the blue moonlight that sneaks in through the window. Harry makes to kneel and examine it closer but Ginny shakes her head. “C’mon, watch your knees, eh?”

Her hand trembles in his a bit as she leads him down the hall toward their bedroom. Harry squeezes her fingers and flicks on the bedside lamps while Ginny takes a seat on the bed, springs creaking beneath her. 

Ginny’s watching him carefully, perhaps unaware of just how very much he enjoys the new decoration in addition to the freckles that litter her skin. He wanders closer until her knees bracket his legs and lets his fingers trace over the bridge of her nose, toy with the gold sparkling at her ear, and finally drift to the dark bra strap across her shoulder. 

When he pulls one knee up onto the bed, Ginny scoots back and they maneuver a bit clumsily until he’s comfortably settled between her thighs, mouth exploring each new addition mapped by his fingers while his hands tease her through black lace. 

His mouth finds hers again while she clutches him closer, legs lifting so the weight of her boots rests against his thighs. 

Ginny moans when he pulls his lips away and begins kissing his way over her bare skin, nosing at the scalloped edge of her bra, and finally hovering over the snitch. Up close, he sees the detail, the wings so airily drawn Harry can almost hear them whirring, each familiar line etched across the ball and a few less so.

Harry glances up, past Ginny’s chest as it rises and falls rapidly, and finds her staring as if she’s still nervous for his reaction. “The tattoo artist thought I was barmy - Luna drew it up for me since I can’t very well bring in a moving photograph to a muggle parlor and - ”

“I noticed some artistic liberties,” Harry murmurs, pressing a kiss to the stretch of skin marked HP + GW.

She smiles softly. “Not too sickly sweet?”

His brows lift infinitesimally before he dips his head back down, drawing in a deep breath, inhaling the heady aroma of Ginny - floral like flowers wild as she is, musky with sweat - before his lips reach the slim wings. 

As Harry drags his nose along her ribs as she inhales sharply and smirks. “The snitch has been a bit integral to our relationship.”

Ginny hums and spears her fingers through his hair, squeezing tightly when he nips at the waistband of her fishnets. “Quite so. Almost as important as my undeniably excellent sportsmanship.”

“And my tendency to be given detention,” Harry laughs as he slowly unbuttons her skirt and draws the zipper down.

She laughs even as he pulls away, turns his attention to her half undone boots, kissing his way along the inside of her thighs, behind her knee. “I do love a bad boy.”

“Is that what motivated the style update?” Harry asks as he tosses her boots aside and his fingers wrap around the waist of her skirt, dragging it down her legs along with the tights.

As he does so, reveals matching lacy bits to those previously discovered and lets out a sharp exhale against Ginny, nuzzling close so she practically purrs.

He nips at the barely there strings that cut across her skin and sighs as Ginny’s hands return to his hair, dragging helplessly as if she can’t decide where she wants to direct and simply knows she would like to do some directing.

Tonight though - he’s been dreaming of what he’d do once they were on the same continent again for the last month and a half and what he’s come up with will only be pleasing for both of them. And whatever daydreams he’s entertained simply magnified in light of recent developments. 

Ginny groans. “Please.”

“You still haven’t answered.”

“Why are we talking?” Ginny nearly whines as she grasps helplessly, reach moving from his hair to his shoulders to the bedclothes.

He’s back at her chest now, dragging his parted lips over her delicate skin and blinking up at her. “Bad girls like a bit of chatter in the bedroom,” and when she levels a look that basically reads ‘which bad girls have you been chatting up’ he flushes a bit but quickly dials back into suave auror mode, “I’ve had enough experience in my lifetime to know so. And you, darling,” he kisses her over the sheer fabric, “Seem to fit the bill.” 

She laughs, a bit strained. “I’m bad, eh?”

He nods, “Leather skirt, tattoo, dark lipstick, piercings,” he tosses his head over his shoulder, “Before I even reference the skimpy underthings and neon fishnets.”

Eventually he does relent as she pulls him up until they’re face to face, drags their bodies together so they both growl with the  _ almost  _ of it all. “Tell me what do you do with all these sexy, leather wearing girls?”

Harry hums as she slips her hands down the back of his trousers and squeezes. “Shit - I uh.”

“Nothing to say, Mr Sultry Auror?”

“Oh hell I - “ she tilts her hips up again and arches so their bare skin drags together and Harry feels sweat pooling at the base of his spine, “Gin I - ”

“Off,” she breathes against his throat, “Take it all off.”

In a flurry of hands, groaning springs, and desperate sighs, they’re bare before each other and Ginny pulls him back between her legs, their bodies splayed haphazardly across the bed as he finally arches and brings them together. 

His breath comes in pants against Ginny’s ear as she moves with him and when his tongue darts out to wet his lips, he tastes the metallic tang of her earring as it shakes with their movements. 

Harry draws her knee higher around his waist and presses harder, faster and Ginny’s words lose sense until all they can do is desperately drag their lips against each other, breathing in and out together as the feeling rising between them since the seconds, minutes, hours, since he saw her across the dim, dingy bar crescendos in a heat wave rippling from somewhere deep in his core to the tips of his tingling fingers and toes.

Once he blinks the stars from his eyes, Harry finds Ginny gazing up at him, sweaty and bleary eyed with dark liner rimming her whiskey eyes. Her voice is raw when she whispers, “Welcome home,” and he can’t help the preening feeling that rises in his chest. Ever unfazed Ginny Weasley, Harpy Chaser, war hero, all around badass looks utterly boneless and like she can’t think of anything else but him.

Not that he has a thought in his head outside of the taste, smell, feel of her. 

Ginny runs her fingers along the side of his face and he toys with the turquoise streak in her hair absently. “I like this.”

She grins. “I noticed.”


	12. HG - Lazy morning kisses (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #6: lazy morning kisses before they’ve even opened their eyes, still mumbling half-incoherently, not wanting to wake up

There’s nothing quite as unpleasant being woken from a dream that you are quite heartily enjoying. Ginny Potter is generally not a fan of being woken up anyway. It’s usually two cups of coffee and three laps around the field before she’s actually lucid enough to not want to fight the sun itself for ruining her sleep schedule.

And five years into their relationship, two years into their marriage, Harry Potter knows this truth well. Which is why he’s currently tugging her from Morpheus’ welcoming arms with slow, gentle kisses that give dream Harry a run for his money. Though things with dream Harry had progressed a bit further along. 

Two sets of foreplay are pleasant enough that she won’t make too much trouble.

She wrenches one eye open just enough to spy Harry blinking at her from behind his glasses, a small grin on his lips. “Morning.”

“You know this needs to be good right?”

“Today’s the first day in - ” he pauses, brow furrowed in that way that’s too cute for her to handle, while he does some mental calculating, “Two months that we’ve both had an entire day off at the same time.”

“And?”

His smile widens while his arms band around her, dragging their bodies together, skin to skin. “And I want to make the most of it.”

“Can I just lie here and think of England?” Ginny manages to breathe out even as Harry’s fingers slip along her spine, curve around her hips.

“Yes, and no,” Harry growls against her lips and sends a shiver down her spine, “I’d prefer you think of me.”

Ginny sighs, stretching her back so her chest presses to Harry’s temptingly. “That’s up to you, isn’t it?”

“You know I love a challenge, dear,” Harry mumbles against her throat. He nips at her collar bone and wanders lower, his hands doing the same until her stolen pants are discarded haphazardly. 

There’s two things she enjoys about her little capers. First, Harry’s pants are just so comfortable she’s in flannel heaven. And second, when she steals them, Harry’s too lazy to pull out another pair and just slips in bed au naturale. Which Ginny very much enjoys.

He’s a wiry thing for sure, never going to be a bodybuilder, but damn if he doesn’t have that tall dark and handsome thing going in spades. She kneads at his shoulders and groans. “Oh hell. If I say something, do you promise not to let it go to your head?”

Harry doesn’t answer until he’s slipped her jersey off and tossed it over the side of the bed. “Maybe.”

And there’s that stupid smirk she wishes she could hate but really just finds unbelievably, obnoxiously attractive, “You’re just so - shit.”

Harry stops his inspection of her chest and glances up at her, glassy eyed. “I’m shit?”

“You’re annoying is what you are,” Ginny growls, nudging him back toward his previous occupation.

Nonetheless, Harry does resume his activities, but slower and more torturously. His lips dragging in shrinking circles until his mouth closes around her and her moan pierces the morning quiet. “Still shit?”

Ginny tugs his hair. “Stuff it.”

Harry laughs and switches his focus to her other side. “If you like.”


	13. HG - Break kiss with gasp (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-DH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> self prompt, self service!

When Ginny declares the clouds drifting overhead looks like the fittest famous man in wizarding history, Gilderoy Lockhart, she expects some sort of devastating remark from Harry. And when he doesn’t she briefly wonders if he’s suddenly lost his sense of humor, then realizes he’s probably fallen asleep. He does that a lot with her and out of context it could be offensive, your boyfriend passing out while you’re spending time together.

But really she’s just glad. Since everything, he tends to wander the halls at all hours like a ghost so she finds him at the table by dawn with circles beneath his eyes and a half a pot of tea drunk already. 

So if he’s calm and comforted enough by her presence to let his guard down and drift off on her silly conversation, Ginny’s decided it’s a compliment. 

A little family of ducks wander into view and drop into the pond, feathers ruffling while they settle into a lazy circuit of the water and Ginny finds herself twisting on her side to watch, arm tucked under her head.

When consciousness tickles her senses, it’s in the form of warm breaths against the back of her neck, a gentle arm over her middle, the woody scent of Harry. 

His thumb is stroking gently against her t-shirt when she twists to face him. “Have a nice kip?”

Harry grins, boyish, and nods. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Not to worry,” Ginny murmurs and presses a kiss to his lips.

He deepens it, pushing up on his elbow so Ginny tips flat onto the grass. 

Eventually, when his attentions wander further south, slowly dragging any bit of exposed skin against his - lips to her jaw, nose brushing along her neck, mouth back to hers - and finally she can’t stand it, the separation that remains so her hands slip beneath his shirt.

When her fingers draw circles against his spine, teasing just above the waistband of his shorts, she momentarily can’t decide where to travel next. Higher, higher, to lift the warm cotton from his shoulders or lower to grasp and tug him closer.

In her hesitance, her hands have slipped higher, still light and gentle, and Harry pulls away with a gasp. She winces, he’s never had a problem with her explorations but he could certainly have one in this moment - or maybe her hands…

“Oh I - Are my hands too cold?”

Harry shakes his head, fogged glasses a bit crooked on his face. “No I - your hands. My back. The touching just - the touching.”

“You don’t want me to?” Ginny asks, one of her palms cupping his jaw gently, “It’s ok, I understand.”

He grunts and shakes his head, “No - that’s not,” he growls again and buries his face in her neck, “Pet my hair?”

Ginny presses her smile into his wild curls and does as he asks, waiting for his bounding heart and panicked breaths to calm. 

After a few moments he murmurs, “When you were touching my back it just - was a lot,” he pauses, “In a good way - but also maybe too much of a good way.”

In yet another maneuver of their sunbathed, summertime relaxed bodies, Ginny wriggles them into upright positions and holds his face in her hands. “We’re partners, right?”

Harry flushes and tries a nod, despite her current hold on his chin. They chuckle and she releases his face in favor of lightly gripping his hands. “So we can just talk about this stuff. Your ‘a lot in a good way’ is a lot more obvious than mine,” she quirks a brow at him and debates for a minute before saying, “Can’t really hide the sword of Gryffindor.”

His head falls back in a loud, barking laugh. “You did not.”

“I said what I said.”

“You’re the worst.”


	14. HG - Top of Head Kisses (M)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon hinny! Fluff! Sultry!

There’s a few incidents in the marriage of Harry and Ginny that precede the purchase of a king size bed.

The first, is unsurprisingly, Ginny’s tendency to sprawl like a human sized spider monkey. Which isn’t really a problem. Harry’s grown into a person who affirmatively enjoys human contact. Particularly with his wife. And this includes cuddling, spooning, tangled legs, et al. 

But she sprawls, and their sleep schedules aren’t in sync per se, and sometimes it’s next to impossible for him to slip into bed when she’s already asleep.

After one too many nights where Ginny’s found him sleeping on the window seat wrapped in one of her ill-fated attempts at knitting with mum - mainly motivated by pure boredom after an end of season injury her second year with the Harpies - she decides they may have an issue. Ginny attempts to resolve the issue with a long chat about self respect and whatnot, and maybe Harry gets teary when she forcefully tells him he deserves a lot including a damn bed. But overall she thinks they’ve handled things. 

Until the second incident - the cat. Minerva, god help them if that secret ever reaches the wrong ears, begins to grow past her kitten phase. Because a small kitten snuggling up to you, sleeping on your shoulder, curling up on the corner of your pillow - the list goes on - is not really a problem. But now, now Minerva is pretty much her full size and she is beautiful and adorable and Ginny loves her, but also would rather not suffocate in her sleep.

So she starts shuffling Minerva onto the mattress at her side, lets her curl against her spine and it's cute and then while Minerva spoons her, she spoons Harry, and it’s all quite domestic. This means of course, that Minerva quickly becomes discontented and begins a series of evenings where Ginny and Harry are pounded with tiny little paws that wake them from all states of sleep, and culminates with Minerva somehow managing to actually shove Ginny from the bed.

Ginny feels a bit sorry, but the level of violence has escalated too high and she’s forced to shut out the poor - still technically a kitten - kitten out of the bedroom at night. Which leads to earplugs and shared guilty looks when her sad whines slide under the door. 

The third and final motivating factor is a little bit boring, and maybe would have been better as an introductory entry. But the story’s been told and so now, the last - bedsheets.

Harry and Ginny have acquired many household items over the course of their marriage, both by purchasing themselves and gifts from the wedding onward. Most items, they can recall at least vaguely the purpose served in the original acquisition. But their collection - yes they have three or more of them - of king sized sheets is a complete mystery, and some days it feels like they’re just independently multiplying when they’re in the closet. 

It’s not really a reason to make the purchase but it does deserve to go last in the sense that it’s the straw that broke the camel’s back. Harry’s folding the fitted sheet they’ve just removed and washed from what will later be referred to as the hobbit bed while Ginny fumes and pets the cat to try and relax.

“You know I have offered on multiple occasions to make fitted sheets strictly ‘Harry Duty’.”

‘Harry Duty’ was invented after one particularly stressful afternoon that almost ended with Ginny breaking every ornament they own and at least a few bones while trying to string lights on their Christmas tree. Ever since, when an activity or chore is a severely undesirable one for Ginny Weasley Potter, it is quickly relegated to Harry’s specific responsibilities. He strings lights, does the washing, and cleans the litter box usually while Ginny watches and compliments his bum.

“No, I feel I need to master this one. It’s within my grasp.”

“Dunno, Gin. You were wrapped up like a caterpillar when I got home.”

“I was getting close, Harry.”

He completes another fold and winks, “Sure you were.”

“Hey! I’ve become a very adept gutter cleaner,” Ginny grumbles, “Fully muggle in my methods even.”

As Harry disappears into the hall, presumably placing the folded sheet in the cupboard, he calls back, “Sure,” there’s a pause before he resumes, voice getting louder as he nears, “Have you ever wondered where all those giant sheets come from?”

“Giants need sheets too and the manufacturers know it,” Ginny replies, waiting for the endeared eye roll she knows will soon follow her cheek.

Harry plops on the couch next to her and Minerva instantly moves to curl in his lap. His fingers find the back of her soft head and scratch lightly. “Because we’ve never had anything larger than a double and those are - Superkings.”

“So?”

“Gin - do you know how large a Superking is?”

“Hm, let me think if I’ve shoved any pointless facts about measurements of things I don’t own in my head lately,” Ginny drawls, earning herself a sharp pinch on the back of her leg from Harry as he pouts.

“See I wasn’t going to say ‘It’s almost twice as long and wide as you’ because I’m trying to respect your wishes to not be mocked for your stature,” Harry starts.

“Wise choice but I fear we’re getting near the borderline for my rage monster,” Ginny answers back, one brow flicking upward.

In the end, after much banter and a fairly satisfying husband and wife ‘bonding session’ on the couch, they do decide to give Superking a go. Ginny’s splayed across Harry’s chest on their secondary location - a haphazardly thrown chenille blanket on the floor - when she sighs, “Anything that gives us more surface area for shagging must be a good thing.”

Which it is, in most ways. Harry’s late night post-shift arrivals have zero impact on Ginny’s sleep schedule, the sheets are a super high thread count, and they get a pillow topper which is just luxurious.

The whole set up is pretty great and complaining makes Harry feel like a tosser but Harry hasn’t touched Ginny in a week. For the first thirteen days, he was distracted from the issue first because the Harpies won their season opening game and there was much touching, albeit outside the traditional bedroom setting. Luckily they remembered to seal the locker room door this time. Before that, Ginny was so wiped at night from training that she was generally asleep before her head hit the pillow. It wasn’t long after the season’s first game Harry was sent on assignment in Scotland and by the time he got back nine days later he was so tired he immediately fell asleep for about seventeen hours.

And now, thirteen days later, Ginny realizes Harry hasn’t touched her in a week. Not in the husband and wife ‘bonding session’ sense - they have definitely made use of the increased surface area, most recently with a highly acrobatic mid afternoon ‘hey we’re both home bonding session.’ But no cuddling, no cold feet pressed to calves, no koala clinging, 

The worst part is that Ginny doesn’t want to say anything. Not because she doesn’t miss it, because she has discovered over the course of her marriage to Harry that she is a very tactile person. It’s because Harry is sleeping so well. The bags under his eyes have paled, he dozes less in the evenings, and less impressively in terms of Ginny’s observational skills, yesterday morning over brunch he said as much. And then they bonded some more and Ginny discovered just how sticky raspberry preserves make your bare bum.

Nonetheless, the damn cat is still on her damn pillow and Harry’s frozen feet haven’t chilled her skin in  _ weeks _ .

But she can’t complain to him, not when he looks so content in his sleep. Not about something so silly and selfish. It’s not as though they don’t have physical contact otherwise. Still, she wonders if he misses it too. If maybe he’s relieved to be free of her space heater-like body.

She’s retreading this train of thought for the umpteenth time since she slipped beneath the bedclothes at ten thirty - just about reaching the two hour mark, when the sheets shift around her.

Harry’s not a big sleep mover so her initial assumption is that it’s Minerva. Until her bottlebrush tail flicks across Ginny’s eyes. In response to her glare, Minerva just blinks and drops from the headboard to the untouched corner of Ginny’s pillow. They bought her a bed fit for feline royalty, it’s feckin memory foam but apparently it’s just not the same. Maybe Minerva is comforted by Ginny’s smell, which could be cute if it wasn’t so annoying.

Particularly since her pillow definitely needs its next ‘too hot need the cold side’ flip.

Just as Ginny’s contemplating the wisdom of upsetting the delicate emotional state of her cat, long deft fingers wrap around her middle, chilling her even through the cotton of her oversized jersey.

Harry’s messy hair appears from beneath the covers first, followed by his brilliant green eyes wide and boyish in the moonlight. “I have crossed fathoms of bed to be with you.”

Ginny can’t help but grin as he inches higher and presses a kiss to her forehead. Together, they end up shuffling so her body is molded along his, forehead pressed to his lazily beating pulse point. 

His fingers run through her hair, combing out knots in the short locks. “You know. If something is bothering you I want to hear.”

She grunts and snuggles closer. 

“I’m the emotionally stunted one. Don’t steal my role in the relationship.”

Another grunt and she manages to drum up a very small amount of indignation. Though Harry’s calming strokes are putting up a bit of a fight. “Excuse me.”

The real indignation comes when Harry pulls away and maneuvers Ginny onto her back, sending Minerva sprawling toward the floor and upsetting Ginny’s almost sleep. Which likely would’ve been her best in about...two weeks.

His thumb strokes her cheek and he’s got that  _ look _ . But he’s not getting the upper hand that easily. It takes more than a two minute cuddle and some well placed fingers. “You upset Minerva!”

Harry shifts and brings his hips flush with hers. “Please don’t mention that name when - we’re at a delicate point in the process.”

Ginny grins and lets her hand slip south, seeking and playful. “I dunno little Harry seems to be doing alright.”

He manages a response that classes slightly higher than an unintelligible grunt. “I know you're just trying to taunt me.”

“With what.”

And while she does enjoy teasing, there is a limit. Because the more she taunts him with soft touches, almost kisses, and coy looks, the more she teases him physically the closer she gets to driving herself completely batty.

Harry knows it too, and uses her distraction to begin working their clothing free. First her t-shirt, then his, but she manages to slip his pants off and give his bare bum a squeeze for good measure. His hips jolt toward her and Ginny laughs against his lips. “So sensitive.”

“Is that a problem?” Harry drawls against her collarbone, slim fingers finally dragging her knickers down her legs. Or at least most of the way. 

“I can help you out down there,” Ginny says to the top of his head while Harry continues his battle with her inexplicably tangled underwear. “I know it’s challenging to just - take underwear off.”

But he does manage it, with some swearing and grunting, and then for her sass, nips at her hip bone. Then his lips drag up her side and she can’t quite manage coherent thought. Not when his hands drag up her arms and their fingers lock together. “Harry - please.”

He props himself up on both elbows and grins. “The tables have turned, eh?”

“Oh yeah you’re amazing,” Ginny chuckles, shifting her hips against his. He moans and presses his forehead to her neck. 

“Minx.”

Ginny’s retort dies on her lips as Harry finally grasps her hips and shifts forward. Her hands search wildly for something to keep her grounded, one finding Harry’s hair and the other wrapping around the headboard.

The metal chills her fingers but she can’t manage to focus on the sensation when Harry’s lips leave hers and desperately travel down her neck, shoulders, and further. 

In the end, they’re a couple of droopy eyed, sweat sheened messes sprawled crookedly across the bed and Ginny takes some pride in Harry’s utterly wrecked expression. He presses a kiss to the crown of her head. “So this bed really is good.”

Ginny hums. “I miss your cold toes.”

“You know,” Harry says after a moment, “Cuddles don’t have to happen by accident.”

He tugs her across his chest and Ginny complies, propping her chin on her forearms. “You’ve been sleeping so well - I didn’t want to ruin it.”

Harry kisses her once, twice, a third time, long and slow. “You know I sleep better when you’re around.”

“I do?”

“Oh. I never said that?”

Ginny pitches her voice low, affecting her best Harry impression, which is pretty solid if she does say so herself. “You know. If something’s bothering you, I want to hear.”

That earns her a flick to the tip of her nose. “Don’t pull that, Weasley.”

“I’ll pull whatever I want. And you’ll like it.”

Harry’s lips find hers again. “Yeah, I will.”


End file.
